Kneeling to the ground, he studied the pine needle-strewn earth between to enormous tree roots. It was barely light enough to see with the faint pinpricks of light that announced the new day, the perfect time to be on a hunt, he thought to himself. Omaha had only reached manhood not but one summer past and already he was renowned as the finest hunter in his village. This, however, did not count for much as his village was only four and fifty heads strong and many of those were counted among the village elders. Straightening he tentatively placed one foot in front of the other and quieter than a spring breeze stalker towards a patch of ground that he hoped would yield more promising sign. Kneeling again a smile edged his lips as he noticed a large deep imprint glistening with the moisture of early morning dew that told him that the Thaug he had been tracking for a day was only an hour ahead of him. The Giant pigs used to be common throughout the stretch of the Haunts that he was hunting however since more villages kept popping up in the area they had relocated further south to more isolated areas, now precious few remained in the area.
Omaha knew he shouldn’t let it happen but his mind started to wander back to times when Galaleya was under the care of the guardians, a race older than time itself that lived unnaturally long lives. Their reign was long and phosphorous as the entirety of their order maintained peace in Galaleya with steadfast security. They were masters of the most powerful tool in the land, magic. However it came to be that a group of the guardians known as “The Spine” decided it would be better to rule over the commoners and pheasants than to simply maintain the peace in the land, they desired power and believed that with the magic they possessed that power was rightfully theirs. They went to the elders of their race and attempted to persuade them to wage war on the four other races in Galaeya, Orcs, Humans, Elves, and Dwarves. The Elders held a conclave, and instead of deciding on The Spines proposal, they found each member of the group culpable of wanted power and being prepared to forgo peace to obtain it. After reaching this conclusion the Elders attempted to banish the members of the spine and stripe them of there magic, The Spine, however, took flight once learning of the Elders intentions and retreated deep into a region known as The Purge, a wasteland where few holy life remains. Leaving them for dead the Elders went back to their city of Inheriter and there they kept the peace with the rest of there race for another 4 and 80 years. Then they began to hear rumors of disquiet in the villages on the outskirts of The Purge. Assuming that some small evil from The Purge had emerged and was preying on the villages the Elders who were now only 4 and 20 strong sent 30 young guardians who had just finished their apprenticeships and were keen to experience the world to investigate the reports of disturbances. They traveled to the villages with confidence in their hearts and over heavy heads, there they found The Spine, alive and well. The Spine spoke to the young guardians at length and their leader Dangix twisted the minds of the young guardians with honeyed words and a smooth tone. There the young guardians took a pledge in the tongue of power, that bound them to the path of The Spine. Then only rumors, rumors and speculations. The elders had traveled to the edges of The Purge and there they meet there end at the hands of The Spine. Ohama frowned as he remembered all the different explanations he had heard over his life from his village and others, so many different stories had been told and so many lies had been woven that the truth of how the Elders fell to The Spine was a mystery. The only thing he knew for sure was that The Spine now ruled over Galaleya with utter surety. There was a small group of rebels, intent on overthrowing The Spine. However, no one knew the exact location of the group, only that they were hidden deep in the Haunts.
The squelching huffing sound of an animal sifting through dead wet wood snapped Omaha back to reality, goosebumps covered his skin, and his arms started to shake as a shot of adrenaline racked his body, the hunt was on. Omaha came to a stop and evaluated his options. Following the game trail he had been following for the best part of the last two days would be the clearest path devoid of foliage and the majority of branches. However it had rained not but 2 and 10 hours past which would make the ground underfoot soft and damp, ideal for bush stalking, plus the added brush of the pines would provide more cover. His mind up on a bush stalking he went to step off the path when the sharp twang of a bow stopped him in his tracks, a second later the squealing that announced an injured Thaug echoed throughout the valley. Omaha moved quickly along the game trail and soon stood on the edge of a small clearing. A man stood opposite him, a cloak covered him from head to toe, the hood was up, he carried an oak bow in one hand and held a goose feather arrow in the other, on his back was a small pack with a quiver stocked with arrows running down the side. The man held Omaha’s gaze for a moment and then swung his head back to the Thaug that was thrashing in the middle of the clearing. Quicker Than Omaha thought was possible he drew and knotted an arrow, took aim and killed the beast silencing the valley once more. Again his eyes meet Omaha’s; the man muttered something indistinct, Omaha collapsed and knew no more.